Dean knew Seamus well. He probably should have seen that coming. . . but there WAS possibly a nail in there, and they were dry and flaky. . .
He was caught between annoyance and amusement and settled for some kind of in between. Instead of reaching to thump Seamus, he knocked a hand into the bottom of the water glass, sending the rest of the contents splashing over Seamus' shirt. "Next time, just let you choke," he grumbled, half laughing after a moment. "Didn't your mum ever teach you about the Boy Who Cried Wolf? You're going to end up choking on something, and no one will listen because you're a great bloody liar who stuffs your face like a pig," he accused.
There was a faintly sheepish tone to the words though, beneath it. Seamus had, after all, gotten him pretty well. "I was about to do that bit where you hug and squeeze to get them to spit things out, you know. So you'd likely have ended up with a broken rib or something, from me doing it wrong. Berk."